


Because I Would Not Stop for Death

by AnabielVriskaMars



Category: Original - Fandom
Genre: Humor, Lighthearted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26872849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnabielVriskaMars/pseuds/AnabielVriskaMars
Summary: Jasper had never understood Arthur Dent. Until today.Death shows up unnanounced, looking every bit a disgruntled teenager in need of help. A strange sequence of events later finds him driving to New York in search for a set of books that may or may not decimate the world population with Death, a dog, and an actress that seems to communicate mainly through obscure TV references.It sounds like the start of a bad joke.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, welcome to my new story!
> 
> The chapters are short and light, and it's mostly a humorous deal. I hope you guys can enjoy it!

“Absolutely not.”

“Definitely yes.”

“No,” I pressed. “You’re not.”

“And what exactly gave you the power to decide over the existence of anything, huh?” She asks, her chin jutting out, defiant. “You can’t say what I am and what I’m not.”

“You’re not ʼ _Death_ ,” I sigh. “Death isn’t a thing—it’s not a person. You—“ I point at her, “are a teenage girl with a lot of imagination.”

She crosses her arms and legs, lower lip jutting forward. She refuses to give me her name—only calling herself “Death.” It’s nothing more than a wispy excuse for a fifteen year old girl with hair as blonde as ripened grain and eyes as blue as the clearest sky. Definitely not what you’d expect from someone calling herself “Death.”

See, she isn’t a patient. In fact, I’m not entirely sure how she got into my office, but I’ve been calling the security guard for the past twenty minutes, and he hasn’t arrived. Martha isn’t outside, for some reason, and I can’t very well force this girl out of my office. I tried being kind—I tried being professional, but nothing seems to work on her. She’s beyond delusional and I’m up to my ears in paperwork to deal with this bullshit.

“Listen, why don’t you just go home? I’m still not sure why you’re here.” I rub my eyes, tired. “You won’t tell me your name, and you won’t tell me what you want, yet here you are, sitting on my couch, expecting God knows what out of me. So how about you go pester someone else?”

She doesn’t move, except to set her scowl deeper.

“You’re very disrespectful.”

“You’re very annoying.”

I rub my entire face, hoping that, once I’m done, she’ll disappear. No such luck. I take a deep breath and try out a new tactic.

“Okay,” I sigh. “Okay, what’s your name?”

“Death doesn’t have a name.”

“Well then, what should I call you?”

Maybe she thinks I’m being condescending. Truthfully, I am. She still takes it.

“Emily.”

“Is that your real name?” I ask.

“Death—”

“—Death doesn’t have a name. Yeah, I got it.”

She doesn’t nod, but looks the slightest bit satisfied. “What are you doing here, then? Why are you breathing down my neck? Am I supposed to die soon?” I try to keep my tone as neutral as possible, almost as if trying not to offend her. Hopefully, she’ll leave soon.

“No, _you’re_ not,” she says gravely. “But something is about to happen, and we need to stop it.”

“Stop it,” I echo. “Stop what, exactly?”

She fiddles with one of her earrings—ones I hadn’t noticed. “Something big.”

“You’re awfully obscure for someone trying to prove she’s Death.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine. You want proof?” She sizes me with her eyes. Only my torso and face are visible from the back of the desk I’m sitting at, but it seems to be enough for her.

“Jasper Michael Eridan. Born September 28, 1989.” She squints a little. “You have two brothers and a sister. You’re engaged to marry Elena Corrigan.” She says the last part a little lower.

“So what? Anyone can figure that out with a quick google search.”

She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Your first kiss was Antonine Elsevier at a party in 2005. Your friend Carlton dared you, but secretly you had a crush on her anyways, so though you pretended to be upset, you were actually quite happy.”

I freeze.

“How can you possibly know that?”

She rolls her eyes and throws herself back into the couch, crossing her arms with a self satisfied smirk on her lips. “I’m the corporeal representation of a figurative imagery of the state of non-being. This is child’s play.”

“Alright, enough,” I say, standing up and heading towards her. Grabbing her roughly by the elbow, I pull her up, but she doesn’t fight it much, save for a ‘hey!’ when I pull her. I push her out of the door and close it behind her, huffing.

“That’s rude.” Her voice comes, impossibly, from behind me. I turn on my heel and there she is, sitting behind my desk where I was only minutes ago.

“How did you—” I look at her and then back at the door, firmly closed.

“Oh my God, are you slow or something?” She asks. “You think a ʼ _door_ is going to keep me out of _anywhere_?”

“Okay, fine. Let’s assume for a moment that you _are_ Death—”

“—which I am—”

“—and tell me what you want with me.” I finish. She studies me.

“Something big is happening.” Her voice drops an octave, and suddenly she seems much older. “Something _bad_. We need to stop it.”

“Define ‘big’ and ‘bad.’”

She rolls her eyes. “The decimation of the world population,” she says flatly. “Is that enough for you?”

“Why would that even matter to you?”

She sits up in the chair, straightening her back. “Because,” she says, but doesn’t end the sentence.

“Okay. What do you want from me?”

“For starters, I want you to believe me.”

“I don’t.”

“I’m aware.”

“So? What are you planning to do if I don’t believe you?”

Emily sighs and stands up from my chair and walks towards me, her face settled in a scowl.

“Listen, this is going to get me into a whole bunch of trouble, so you better appreciate it.” Before I have time to reply, she grabs my elbow, just as I grabbed hers a minute ago, and I slump to the ground.

Well— _someone_ slumps to the ground. It can’t be me, though, because I’m still standing, being held on by Emily. However the person who fell on the ground is in _exactly_ the place I would’ve fallen, had it been me.

He also has my face.

That drives the point home.

“Jesus Christ!” I cry and jump backwards, trying to release myself from her grip. She, however, has a strength that cannot possibly belong to that body, and her eyes are set.

“Relax, drama queen. You’re only passed out as long as I’m grabbing you. If you break free from my grasp tough…” She leaves the sentence hanging. Everything inside of me wants to put as much space between us as it possibly can.

She closes her eyes and I feel a wave of nausea. Next thing I know, I’m face down on the floor—exactly in the same place where I saw my own face crumpled. I scuttle to my knees and crawl away from her.

“ _What the hell?_ Who are you?” I grab on to my desk, my legs not daring get up yet. I’m pretty sure they’re made of jell-o, at this point. She stares at me impassively.

“We’ve gone over this—”

“—Don’t give me that crap! How did you do that!”

“Oh, don’t look at me like I killed you. I just separated your soul from your body. A little. For like, a second.”

I’m imagining things. Of course, I’m imagining things. This girl is not in my office, and I did not see what I thought I saw. I had a few drinks too many at the bar, or maybe I haven’t slept in too long. Yes, that must be it.

I shut my eyes, hard, expecting to wake up.

“Exactly how long are you going to do this? We really don’t have time. We have like, five days until the end of the world.”

“You’re not real,” I chant. “You’re not, you’re not, you’re not.”

I sense her come closer but I don’t open my eyes, she kneels, and I feel her staring.

“Jasper.” Her voice is rough for the first time. I barely dare peek from behind my arm. “I need your help, okay? I really can’t do this on my own.”

“Why are you chasing me, then?” I mumble from behind my arms. _God,_ I’m pathetic. “Why can’t you find someone else to torment?”

She hesitates. “It has to be you.”

I think she’s going to keep speaking, but she doesn’t. We’re in silence longer than I would hope

When I finally find the balls to open my eyes.

Emily stares at me impassively, but patient.

“Who are you?” I ask dumbly, for the umpteenth time.

She lets her head hang. “Someone who needs help,” she says quietly. “Didn’t you promise to help whoever you could? That’s what you told Elena, right?”

It takes me a moment, but the memory surfaces into my brain like a cantaloupe on water. I remember, going into the surgical residency five years ago how I promised that I would do anything in my power to help anyone, so long as I got through it.

I guess God sometimes _does_ cash his checks.

I nod, finally. Her shoulders release their tension, and she smiles a little, cheekily.

“Thank you. I swear I’ll explain everything on the way.” She stands up and dusts her jeans and tye-dye shirt, fixing her denim jacket. It’s an awfully 90’s vibe she’s carrying.

“On the way where?”

She grins. “For starters, New York.”


	2. A Reason to Go

“And exactly _why_ would I go to New York?”

“Well, its not really New York. It’s like, on the way there.” Emily speaks from the passenger seat of the car as if everything is decided and I’m going. And I’m _not_.

Am I?

God, I’m as spineless as Karl always swore I was.

“What are we even looking for, anyway? And why don’t we take a plane? Isn’t that more practical?”

Emily winces. “I mean, _yes_ ,  but only if you’re excited about the plane crashing.”

“ _Why_ would the plane crash?” I ask, frustrated as I stop at a light. “Do you ever speak clearly?”

“Well, the sky doesn’t like me much. People up there aren’t exactly fond of death.”

“But when planes crash—”

“Yeah, when they hit the _ground_ , we come in.”

“We?” I ask, but Emily has changed the subject.

“Where the hell are we going anyway? Aren’t we going in exactly the opposite direction of the highway?”

I look at her sideways and scoff. “You don’t think I’m leaving the city without telling Elena, do you?---Wait, I haven’t even decided I’m leaving.”

“Yes, you have.”

“No, I haven’t.” I press, but I’m pretty sure she’s right. That whole business with the soul removing was quite terrifying in its own right, and I do _not_ want to live it again, thank you very much.

If Emily is who she says… do I even have a choice in the matter?

“Listen, why did you pick me? I’m sure there’s like a thousand other enthusiastic candidates that are willing to drive a teenage representation of non-being across the country. So why show up at _my_ office?”

“ _God,_ Jasper, do you _ever_ quit complaining?”

“I’m just asking!”

“Listen, the circumstances were just right, okay? There was a shitty lottery and you drew the short stick. Is that enough for you?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why bother asking? It’s not like it’ll change anything. You’re still the one who has to take me.”

“Why, though? Why do you even _need_ help? You can literally remove souls out of people’s bodies. _How on earth_ am I even useful to you?”

“For starters, I can’t drive,” she states simply. I open my mouth to retort, but she’s on it. “Driving is _human_. It’s artificial. I don’t get along well with artificial. If it were a _horse_ , I’d get along better, but a car… not my thing.”

“Goddamnit.” I press the pedal, pulling up at the final street that leads to the cul-dec-sac.

“Second of all, human interactions are difficult. I can’t do it on my own. I’m not used to dealing with them. You’re a doctor. You know people.”

“I know how to cut them open.”

“Ah yes, you’re usually good at that.” Her tone drops an octave. “When you’re sober, that is.”

I slam the breaks. When I turn my head, Emily is looking straight at me, unflinching.

“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t know? I have a list of all the patients you’ve fucked up.” She levels with me. Words are in my mouth but I can’t spit them out. “And yeah, you can chalk them down to ‘complications’” she airquotes “but we both know that the only complication there were your unsteady hands.”

“You don’t know that—”

She sighs.

“Mary Scott, 49, botched appendicectomy. She stayed three weeks in the hospital because of that. Missed her son’s graduation, by the way. James Elliot, 56, you nicked the carotid and he had a long, unpleasant stay in the ICU. He’s still paying those bills, you know.”

My mouth is dry.

“And then there’s Keira Montgomery—”

“—enough. I got it.” My knuckles are white as I grip the steering wheel. Emily hasn’t stopped looking at me.

“I don’t want to blackmail you, Jasper, but I _will_ ,” she says quietly. “I’m that desperate.”

We stay quietly in the still car for a few minutes until the honking horn of the car behind me brings me back to my senses, and I press the pedal again.

We are quiet. I don’t think either one of us knows what to say. What do you say after being blackmailed?

“What kind of a name is ‘Emily,’ anyways?”

I don’t know why I do these things.

Tension begins deflating. “It’s a nice name. I’d choose it, if I were human.”

“So you’re just going to introduce yourself like that?”

“No, I’m going around saying I’m Death,” she replies. “Are you stupid?”

I sigh and grip the steering wheel, finally pulling up at my house. I feel a shift next to me.

“Listen, Jasper—”

“What now?” I ask, exhasperated.

“It’s just—” she sighs. “I’m really sorry, okay?”

I frown, looking at her, but her sight is on her feet. Suddenly, I feel apprehensive. I look up at my house—that lovely suburban two-floored home that Elena and I built, and I feel dread.

Why do I feel dread?

I get off the car as quickly as I can, tripping on the way, and rush to the door, working my keys clumsily until the lock gives away and I swing it open.

“Elena?” I call out. Silence. “Elena!”

I call and call again, but there is no answer. I finally make it to our room, fearing the worst. Why did Emily look so sorry?

I open the door, stomach in my mouth, and I almost expect to see Elena dead.

I’m not sure whether I’m relieved or disappointed that she’s just having an affair with her yoga instructor.

Not very creative.

“Jasper!” she gasps, recoiling from Janice and gathering the sheets around her. “This isn’t—”

But I don’t really care to listen. I’m not even sure I _can_ listen. I feel underwater, and every step I take is difficult, like I’m walking through mud. I climb down the stairs and Elena follows suit, calling my name, but I don’t turn around until I’m at the door and she grabs my hand.

“Jasper, wait!” she clings to my arm with one hand and she holds her robe closed with the other. “I can ex—”

“I’m going to New York,” I mumble dumbly. “I’ll be back in a few days.”

Elena isn’t breathing. I’m not thinking.

“By the time I get back I want all your stuff out.”

“Jas—”

But I’m out of the door before she can finish saying my name. Emily is still in the car, pointedly not looking at me, and I understand what her ‘sorry’ was about.

I climb in and set the engine wordlessly.

“Are you okay?” She asks quietly.

“We need to stop for gas on the way. Do you know the route?”

Emily nods, and I drive away from Elena for the last time.


	3. The Dog

“So,” I prompt. Emily sits in the passenger’s seat, flipping through the car’s manual, God knows why.

“Hm?” She doesn’t look up.

“Are you ever going to tell me what we’re doing?” I don’t even bother looking at her. I’d rather stay on the road, thank you very much. The last thing I want to do is to die by Death’s side.

I don’t think I’ve ever come _close_ to a thought that grim. Or strange.

“What are you talking about? We’re driving to New York.” She still doesn’t look up, flipping through the pages of the manual.

“Yes, but _why_?” I demand. “I mean, you literally pulled me out of my office in the middle of the day, separated my fucking soul from my body and demanded I take you to New York five minutes after discovering that my ex-future wife is having an affair—” I say this with just the slighter flinch—“and you’re not going to tell me _why_ we’re doing it?”

She drops the manual. “Why do you even wanna know? It’s not like its gonna change anything.”

“That may be, but I seriously need to know why I left all of my patients hang—oh, _shit,_ I left all my patients hanging.”

Quickly, I rummage through my pocket—a difficult exercise, while you’re driving—and unlock it. A picture of Elena looks at me from the background. Her name is all over my phone, claiming 28 missed calls. I ignore them and find the number of my office in my address book (I should really learn it).

Before I can press ‘call,’ Elena’s name pops up on the screen again. My finger hesitates over the green button for a moment.

No, not now.

I end the call.

Before she can call again, I call my office. I’m not sure what Emily’s doing, considering that I keep switching my gaze back and forth from my phone to the street. Thank all my lucky stars that the street is practically empty as we head towards the highway.

The phone rings twice. Finally, somebody picks it up.

“Doctor Eridan’s office, how can I help you?” Martha’s voice is breathless on the other side of the phone, and for a moment I imagine her short, overweight form rushing from the vending machine to catch the call.

“Martha.”

“Doctor Eridan!” I hear relief in her voice. “Sir, your three o’clock is—”

“Cancel it. I’m gone for a few days.”

I hear the wrench thrown into the gears of her brain. “But—”

“Family emergency.” My voice is curt and tight. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Martha takes a few seconds to answer. “Yes, doctor.”

“And Martha? I was looking for you earlier. Where were you?”

“I, uh, I—”

“You know what? Nevermind. I’ll see you in a few days.” I hang up the phone quickly, tossing it to the back seat. I’ve never been fond of that thing, anyways.

“Yeah, uh,” Emily begins, uncomfortably. “That… sort of was my fault.”

“What thing?”

“Well, I needed you alone, and your secretary just wouldn’t go away—”

“What the hell did you do?” I give her a sideway glance. She’s pulling a face, pursing her lips as if thinking how to answer.

“Nothing she didn’t _want_ to do, anyway.”

“Emily,” I _want_ to sound dangerous, but I _hardly_ think it works. I keep shifting my gaze. I’m surprised at how uncomfortable I’m able to make her.

“Well, she’s had a crush on him for _years_ , I just gave her a little push—”

“Wait, with who?”

“Does it matter? She _was_ pretty happy.”

I finally turn my head and look at her. “How did you even—”

“—Jasper, look out!”

I slam my foot on the break before I can even turn my head. Say what you want about videogames, but they’ve trained me for good reaction times. By the time I look to the front, my breath is already caught on my throat. The car doesn’t even finish stopping before Emily’s foot hits the pavement. I open the door and get out quickly to find her leaning in front of the hood of the car, and what the _hell_.

She’s leaning over a dog.

“Oh no,” she mutters. “He’s hurt.”

“Emily, what the _fuck_. We could’ve died!”

She doesn’t turn her head from the dog, but she _does_ scoff. “No, I practically can’t die, and you wouldn’t have. I’m literally right here. I wouldn’t have been able to collect your soul.”

“Then what—”

“You probably would’ve been in a coma, or have a few broken bones,” she says off-handedly while studying the dog. He’s a small Daschund, leaning on his side, panting. She runs her hand over him and squints her eyes a little bit. “He’s in pain. We need to take him to a vet.”

I’m about to retort, but Emily has already gathered it in her arms and makes her way back to the car. I follow suit and climb to the driver’s side. The dog is on her lap and she’s petting it.

“For the love of— why do you even care? It’s just a dog.”

Emily turns her head to the side and shoots me the ugliest glare I hope she can muster, because I feel like I’ve been turned into an ant.

“Life is precious, dickbreath.” She grits her teeth. “ _All_ life. Or you think humans are the only ones that matter?”

Okay, yes, I deserve to feel like an ant. I sigh and set the car in motion. We’re quiet for a minute.

“What happened to it?”

The anger is clear on her voice. “Some children pushed him off the first floor. His left front paw is broken.”

We’re in the middle of the street of a high-class suburban neighborhood. I’m not surprised the children are assholes.

“How did he make it to the street?” But Emily doesn’t answer, instead fussing over the dog. I sigh. “I don’t know where we can find a vet.”

“Make a right and then head 974 meters straight and then make a left after the white house.”

I want to ask, but you know what? I don’t even care anymore. I just do as she says. Life seems to be easier that way.

As expected, to my left we find a small store with colorful words and a cartoon dog on top of it. I park the car and Emily steps out, dog in her arms. She all but rushes inside.

I don’t know what sort of divine luck she carries around, but the doctor is not only there, but open. She heads straight into the examine room. I’m about to follow suit, when the secretary stops me to ask me for our data.

By the time Emily comes out, I’ve been practically asleep for half an hour. Didn’t she say we were in a hurry?

But there’s a smile on her face—an innocent one, one that look exactly like the one a fifteen-year old girl would be capable of making—and my irritation subsides. She’s looking at the dog in her arms, and it looks at her like she’s an angel.

If only it knew.

“Are we done?” I ask. She’s scratching the Daschund’s head. I turn around for the door.

“Yeah, just let me get some food.”

I stop short. “Food,” I repeat. “What do you mean, _food_.”

“I don’t know if you know this,” she says slowly, and for a moment, I think she has very serious doubts about my IQ. “But living creatures eat.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

She scowls. “Fuck you, Watson.”

I let it pass. “ _Why_ do you need food?”

“We’re going to go for five days. You can’t expect him not to eat for five days. How do you expect his little paw is going to heal if he doesn’t eat right?” She shows me the dog’s paw in a cast, which is, admittedly, cute.

“Emily,” I say, as slowly and calmly as I possibly can. “We are _not_ taking the dog.”

“HotDog.”

“What?”

“His name is HotDog.”

“You named it Hot Dog?” I can seldom believe my ears. This seriously isn’t happening.

“No, imbecile, not Hot Dog,” she says. “HotDog. Like Jughead’s dog.”

I bring my hands to my face and rub it before grunting against my palms in frustration.

“Emily, listen to me carefully,” I speak slowly and clearly. “We are not, I repeat, _we are not_ taking the dog.”

“HotDog.”

“ _We are not taking Hot Dog_.”

“Sure we are,” she shrugs. “Now pay up, time is money and ours is up.”

“What do you mean, _pay up_?”

“I’m starting to wonder if you have a learning disability. What exactly makes you think I have money? My job doesn’t pay.”

“Sir?” The secretary calls. I think he’s trying to diffuse the situation and am silently grateful. He smiles. “It’s a hundred dollars, sir.”

Fuck this guy.

And _that’s_ how we get the dog.


	4. Casual Nihilism

“It’s staring at me.”

“He’s not.”

“Emily, he’s staring.”

“Jesus Christ Jasper, what do you want me to do about it? He’s a puppy. He can stare at whatever he wants.” Emily’s voice doesn’t match the look of adoration in her eyes, although only one of them is directed at me, thankfully. “You’re the ugliest motherfucker in his range of view. He’ll stare if he wants to.”

“It’s making me uncomfortable.” It really is.

“Dear God, do you _ever_ not whine?” She reaches for some treats in a small bag by her feet and holds them in her hand for the dog to sniff.

“I’m not whining.” My scowl is set, and I can very well see myself complaining. A thought strikes me though. “Hey, is God real?”

I can practically _hear_ the way she looks at me like I’m a moron. I’m starting to think perhaps I am. No intelligent being could be dragged into such a stupid situation.

There’s a beat of silence.

“What kind of a question is _that_?”

“You swear a lot. It just made me wonder, is God real? I mean, I was raised Christian Catholic, so I’ve always believed, but seeing you, I sort of wonder—”

“—If there’s a huge man in the sky holding the earth in his hands, looking at you dumbfucks run around and destroy each other?”

“I…guess?”

“Yeah, there is,” she says, surprisingly calmly. “He also eats ice cream with the teddy bear that holds the _other_ universe in his paw.”

“Okay—”

“They both do Friday night sleepovers—”

“Fine—” She really goes off sometimes.

“And the bear braids his beard with no fingers.” She finishes, thank God. I can feel her stare, and can’t help but steal a glance. As expected, she’s giving me a look. “You’re an idiot.”

“So there’s no God?” I ask, mildly deflated.

“How the fuck should I know?” She asks, sitting back, probably to play with Hot Dog.

I seriously hate that name.

I frown and look at her, and yes, she’s scratching a very happy Hot Dog behind his ears. My gaze returns to the front and the inevitable exit towards the highway coming right up.

This is it. When I get to the highway, I’m gonna be doing this for real. Going to New York with Death—at least she calls herself Death. I mean, at this point I’m not even sure. She could’ve spiked my coffee this morning, and everything I’ve seen could’ve been a hallucination.

“You’re Death,” I say dumbly. “Shouldn’t you know?”

“Why? I don’t deliver souls to anyone.” She stops suddenly. “So, where hitting the highway finally?”

I hesitate for a second. Yes, I suppose we _are_ hitting the highway. And I’m leaving everything behind like it’s nothing. I walked out on my patients, I’m not letting my friends know, I’m walking out on Elena—

\--Elena.

I look down at my phone. Her picture still looks back at me, smiling. A smile I thought was just for me. But no, there she was, with Janice.

How long has it been going on? Is it truly insurmountable? Am I really calling off the wedding?

I’s startled by the appearance of very pale, snapping fingers on my face, and immediately begin hearing the cars honking behind us. I look up, the light is green, and judging by everyone’s reactions, it must’ve been like that for a few seconds at least.

“Sorry,” I say quietly. But Emily doesn’t comment. She’s quiet too, and I’m guessing she saw me staring at the screen.

“I’m sorry about your girlfriend,” she says awkwardly.

 _Girlfriend_. She was _fiancée_ just two hours ago.

“So am I.”

“Listen, I’m not very good at cheering people up. Actually, unless you want someone dead, I’m _very_ sure I can’t cheer you up.” She thinks for a second. “You don’t happen to want her dead, do you?”

“What? No!” I cry, setting the car in motion.

“Okay, good, cause that would get me into a whole lot of trouble.” Emily says, and she looks down at Hot Dog. I steal a glance, and realize the dog is asleep, and her gaze is gentle.

We are both quiet for a few seconds.

“Are you really Death?” I ask. She measures her answer.

“What do you understand by ‘Death?’” She asks, and I’m surprised at how mature she sounds.

“I thought Death just happened. I didn’t think someone had to come in.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that. Its about separating souls from bodies and taking them to the recycling center.”

“Recycling center?” My voice is bewildered.

“Oh, yeah, probably shouldn’t call it that, sorry.” And the weird thing is, she _does_ seem sorry. I guess Emily is not without a heart, after all. “Souls reincarnate. Reapers take them to the right place for this to happen. No souls, no reincarnation.”

“But wait, that means—”

“That life is a pointless circle and when you die you’ll just do it all over again?”

“….Yeah.” The sentiment is nihilistic and depressing.

“How is that any different from working five days a week and then starting over next Monday?”

The atmosphere in the car is heavy. I want to pull the windows down to breathe, but the heat outside is too much. Instead, I turn up the AC.

“So,” she begins, and I feel a hint of apprehension. “New York?”

I press the gas and we climb into the interstate.

“New York.”


	5. I... Don't Even Know Anymore

“Take the next exit.”

Emily finally breaks the silence. It’s been almost four hours since the last time either of us spoke, and I was starting to believe something had happened. As if on cue, Hot Dog begins stirring as well.

“The next exit? But we’re still a ways from New York.”

“I’m aware,” Emily replies. “We have to make a pit stop.”

“We’re in the middle of Kansas. What could you possibly need here?”

“Would you take the goddamn exit, dipshit?”

I sigh, and in the end, do exactly as she says. It seems, in the end, that’s all I end up doing, anyway.

“Either way, HotDog needs to get out and stretch his legs. Go to the bathroom.”

I’m suddenly aware of the remarkable fact that the dog has yet to soil my car. I eye him, curiously. “Hey, Emily? What’s with the dog?”

Emily is looking forward with her nose scrunched up, as if looking for signs as we exit the highway. “Hm? What do you mean? Make a right, by the way.”

I turn the car.

“I mean, he can’t be a normal dog, right? Like, he’s super comfortable around you. And he’s a puppy. And my car is still clean.”

“He’s just a puppy, dumbass. Here, a left.” She thinks for a moment and opens the window, putting her head out a bit.

“Hey, don’t do that! It’s dangerous!”

“I’m not alive, idiot,” she calls back, but still I slow down. She puts her head back in the car. “Here, keep going straight.”

She directs me like this for a while. HotDog is still on her lap, and he yawns. Just how much can a dog sleep, anyway? Well, still better than screwing up my car, I guess.

“We’re here,” Emily says finally, when we reach a small suburban neighborhood, not unlike mine in Colorado. “Pull over.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere!” I cry.

“Stop the car and put it on park. It’s not that hard.”

I do as she says, and she exits, gently putting Hot Dog on the ground. Happily, he rushes about as fast as his cast lets him and finds a nice spot to relieve himself. I get out of the car, quietly, and look around.

It seems we’re in a reserved area.

“A reservoir?” I ask, dumbly. Emily nods.

“Come on, she’s right around here.”

“’She?’”

But Emily doesn’t answer. She keeps walking forward with a purpose. In a moment, Hot Dog follows her, and I realize I have no choice but to do the same.

I’m learning to follow the lead of a dog. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Emily breaks through the shrubbery, making her way through uncanny amounts of green. This shade happens to be exactly Elena’s eyes, and for a moment, I think about calling her. I thumb my phone in my pocket, but eventually let it go and pull my hand out, using it to help me move the plants out of the way.

“What are we doing?” I ask, although I’m _sure_ I won’t get an answer.”

Alas, I don’t.

We’re walking for a few minutes before Emily stops short and I see her shoulders slump down in what can only be relief. I honestly hadn’t even noticed she was stressed. I look over her shoulder and finally see what she must’ve been looking for.

Sitting in a bench in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by flower and pigeons, is probably the most objectively beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s got luscious brown hair calling over her shoulder in waves, and when she looks up I get a glimpse of eyes so green, they make Elena’s look like swamps. She unveils a smile that somehow reminds me of the waves of the sea, staring straight at Emily.

“Hello, dear,” she says warmly and, I shit you not, a bird starts singing nearby. For real. A bird. “It’s been too long.”

Emily doesn’t rush forward, but her pace is certainly faster and less hesitant than it was before. She walks confidently but with care, almost as if not to startle the woman, whatever age she may be. She somehow looks… timeless. Like an old film.

Emily closes the space between them and the woman stands, receiving her in her arms. Emily’s head turned to the side, I see a small, innocent smile on her lips, akin to the one she had when she was bringing Hot Dog out of the veterinary. The woman pulls back and touches a long blonde tress and pulls it over Emily’s shoulder affectionately.

Hot Dog catches up to them. Crap, I’d forgotten about the dog. Emily bends over to pick him up.

“Sorry buddy, didn’t mean to leave you behind.”

Oh my _God_ , Emily can be nice.

The woman finally looks over Emily’s shoulder at me and smiles.

“Jasper, please, come closer.”

I blink twice, flabberghasted. My name has never been spoken in such a sweet tone, and by so beautiful a woman. I hesitate. Surely, there must be some _other_ Jasper in the vicinity.

“Move it, scumball.”

Ah yes, that does it. They’re definitely talking to me. I come closer and present my hand. The woman looks at it strangely, and then laughs before taking it, as if she weren’t used to the courtesy.

“I’m sorry, I forget human customs.” Her hands are every bit as soft as they seem to be.

“’Human customs,’” I echo. “I take it that means you’re not human?”

She shakes her head with a smile, and for a moment I know that I would topple empires and kick children to see that smile again.

“I suppose Emily hasn’t said much.”

“Not much other than ‘dipshit’.”

“Hey!” Emily protests, but doesn’t say more.

The woman nods and sits down, gesturing at the small table that I’m _very sure_ hadn’t been there a minute ago.

When a woman that pretty asks you to sit, you sit. I don’t make the rules. By this point I think I’d believe anything that comes out of her mouth.

“I am Love.”

…Almost anything.

“Love,” I echo. “ _Love,_ Love. The feeling.”

She nods calmly, and I can tell she finds no malice in my words. To be fair, there _isn’t_ malice. Just plain incredulity. She reaches out and pets Hot Dog, who seems more than happy to receive ministrations from her. I guess I’m not the only prey to her charm.

“So,” I say finally, “there’s like, what, a club for sentient representations of supposedly intangible beings?”

“Clubs are for children,” Emily grumbles.

“If it makes it easier for you to understand it, then you can look at it that way.” Her words are calm and relaxing, and I could listen to her all day long. “Although it is not too different from the ancient greeks’ belief in gods.”

“So you’re a god.” I say.

“Not quite.”

“I don’t get it.”

“And you won’t,” interrupts Emily. “Now we have things to talk about, so how about you skedaddle for a while? I’ll let you know when we’re good to go.”

But Love raises her hand gently. “He should stay. He deserves to know what’s happening.”

“That would be a nice change of pace,” I agree. Emily grumbles and sits back. Hot Dog digs his face in her hand, looking for pets, and you know what? He gets them. He could get anything out of Emily, frankly. She sighs, exasperated.

“We have to find these notebooks, okay?”

“Notebooks?” I want to slap myself. I sound like the exposition to a poorly written story.

“Death has a set of books,” Love explains. “Due to an… incident… they’re gone. Emily has to get them back.”

“What are the notebooks on?”

“That’s not important,” Emily says quickly. “What’s important is that we need to get them soon.”

“What happens in five days? You said the end of the world. _How_ is it the end of the world?”

Emily scoffs. “I didn’t say _End of the World._ I said _decimation of the world population_.”

Love sighs. “It’s a little hard to explain.”

“Have you seen Death Note?” Emily asks, point blank. “Of course you have, you fucking weeb.”

“Hey!” She’s not wrong.

“You know how in that show you write a name and that person dies? Well, it’s a little similar. Except every book is different.”

Love nods. “The first book is the one pertaining catastrophes. Any major event that can reduce an important number of people has to be written there. And if it’s there, it _will_ happen.”

“That’s not the kind of power you want a human to have.” Emily finishes. She looks at Love. “Do you have any leads?” She asks, hopefully. Love smiles.

“Cassius.”

Emily flinches. “You’re kidding.”

“Who’s Cassius?” I ask. The breeze is getting rather cold, and only now am I feeling the mildew surrounding us.

“Cultist,” Emily explains, still looking at Love. “He’s _obsessed_ with death and found out about the books. Must’ve gotten his hands on it somehow.”

“Well that’s good, right?” I ask, “if he’s obsessed, he should be happy to help you. You’re Death, right?”

Love raises an amused eyebrow, but says nothing, and I’ve read enough books to know where this is going.

“It’s not going to be that easy, is it?” I ask.

“It certainly won’t be,” Love says with a small smile. “Spring knows a little about the second notebook, but I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“It’s alright, I have a hunch.” Emily says as she begins getting up. Love follows suit, and I understand my cue. We leaver the table, Hot Dog in arms, and head to the entrance of the small clearing.

“You know I have your back, Emily,” Love says kindly. “But you need to be more careful.”

Instead of snark, Emily smiles a little and leans in for a hug, looking… happy. Hot Dog smells Love a little and she pets his head. Finally, she turns to me.

“Thank you for looking after her, Jasper,” she says quietly. “And sorry about Elena.”

“Is there _anyone_ who doesn’t know about that?” I grumble, but Emily is already on her way to the car.

“Move it, shitstain! We have to make it to Nebraska before nightfall!”

I sigh and look at Love one last time, but where she used to be, only a sweet scent remains. I turn on my heel and head to the car.

This is even more ridiculous than I ever could’ve hoped to suffer.


End file.
